


Rocky Road

by butterflyslinky



Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Amnesia, Dancing, Domestic Avengers, Fluff, M/M, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-28
Updated: 2014-10-28
Packaged: 2018-02-22 23:10:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2525177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/butterflyslinky/pseuds/butterflyslinky
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>"Get a hobby," Sam said. "Find something you like doing besides saving the world."</i>
</p><p> </p><p>It should not be this hard to find something Steve likes to do. But the Avengers are going to find <i>something.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Rocky Road

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to be a quick and silly story about super-Irish Steve. It got a little out of hand. Apropos to nothing, just something to work on while I wait for a full copy of Word. Unbeta-ed, so feel free to point out any mistakes.

"Get a hobby," Sam said. "Find something you like doing besides saving the world."

"And what's wrong with saving the world?" Steve asked.

"Just that you can't do it all the time." Sam looked serious. "I mean it, Steve. You need to do something else with your time besides brooding and fighting. Go outside. Meet people. Make friends. You need to readjust to civilian life and you're not doing it in here."

Steve wanted to protest, but Sam had a good point. Ever since the incident in DC, Steve had spent most of his time hanging around Avengers Tower, occasionally trying to read or watch TV, but mostly just sighing listlessly and staring into space while Tony used all his tech and manpower to hunt down the missing Bucky Barnes.

Sam knew that Steve wanted to be out there on the ground, joining the search, but Tony had advised against it, saying that Barnes was likely to be somewhere untraceable and unreachable so that if Steve got into trouble, there would be no one to get him out.

Hence Sam's attempts to get Steve out of the Tower and doing something else.

"Come on, man," Sam said when all he got in response was another sigh. "There's gotta be something else you like to do. Or something you never tried but always wanted to. Aren't your senior years supposed to be spent doing all the things you never got around to?"

Steve gave him a hard look. "You need to stop hanging out with Tony," he muttered. "And for the record, I already know how to knit, bake, and do all the other things they offer at senior centers."

"There's more out there than that!" Sam said. "You just have to look around!"

Steve didn't respond, so Sam stopped talking, but he wasn't done yet.

*

"So let me get this straight," Tony said. "You want everyone to start picking up flyers for anything that might possibly catch Steve's fancy in an attempt to get his mind off his still-missing BFF or possible ex-lover?"

Sam sighed. Leave it to Tony to be as rude about this as possible. "Yes," Sam confirmed. "He needs to get out more, and I know there's plenty of things for him to do in New York. So...you know, if you happen to see an ad on a bulletin board or in the paper or something, just...give it to him. Offer to go along if you want. Just get him out again!"

"Bulletin boards? Papers?" Tony grinned. "Are we sure it's Steve who came from the forties?"

Clint rolled his eyes and turned back to Sam. "Should be easy. If nothing else, he'll go with us just to be polite."

Natasha looked skeptical. "I don't know...he doesn't show much interest in anything except news about Barnes these days."

"Well, we don't have any more news about Barnes," Sam snapped. "So we have to find him something else to be interested in. I mean, he has to have some interests, right?"

"He was an artist," Bruce said helpfully. "I caught sight of his old sketchbooks once. Maybe we could find him an art class?"

"Good idea," Tony said. "Send me the bills."

"Get him a gym membership," Clint suggested. "I know we have a first-class facility here, but if we sent him elsewhere, he might talk to someone."

"Worth a shot," Sam said. "And there are always things happening. Keep an eye on the papers and calendars online."

*

Clint was the first to find something, since he still took a morning paper. It was just a small ad tucked at the bottom of a page, for free pottery workshops at one of the community centers.

"Hey, Steve," Clint said. "There's a pottery workshop at the community center."

"Oh?" Steve said from his post at the coffee maker, managing to feign interest as Fiona Ritchie discussed the last song that had played on “Thistle and Shamrock.”

"Yeah," Clint said. "Seven tomorrow. You busy?"

"Um...not really..." Steve looked very wary of where this conversation was going.

"You wanna go with me? I'd feel really stupid going by myself."

Steve sighed. "Yeah, sure," he said. "Not doing anything else." He cranked up the radio as “Dicey Riley” started playing, humming along as he made his breakfast.

The workshop was nice, with a very patient instructor in a bright skirt and lots of necklaces. She was always quick to come over and show Clint when he was getting it wrong, which was often since Clint wasn't much of an artist. Steve, in spite of hands a bit too large for the delicate work, was still very good and at the end of the workshop, they brought their little pots back to the Tower to be given a place of honor in Pepper's china cabinet.

“So what do you think?” Clint asked.

Steve smiled perfunctorily. “It was fun,” he said. “Thank you for taking me.”

Clint knew that was dismissal and that Steve wouldn’t be going back.

*

Bruce tried next. He had found a yoga class advertised on his Facebook page, and while Bruce wasn’t crazy about Facebook ads, it did seem like a good idea.

“Hey, Steve,” he said one evening as they sat pretending to watch _Downton Abbey._ “I signed up for yoga starting next week. You wanna come along?”

“Won’t they mind an extra person?” Steve asked.

“Nah,” Bruce said. “It’s open to the public, walk-ins welcome. Think it’ll do us some good.”

Steve couldn’t think of a good excuse, even though he was well aware of what his teammates were up to now. Still, he didn’t have much choice but to accompany Bruce to a nearby gym the next week and take his place on the mat.

The lesson went well, with an instructor who had the same sort of serenity that Steve associated with Sam. Bruce had some trouble with a few poses, but Steve managed them all perfectly. By the end, Bruce did feel better, though he didn’t see the same sort of peace in Steve’s eyes.

“Feel free to come back any time,” the instructor said.

Steve nodded and returned to the Tower. Bruce shrugged as they got back inside. “Could be nice to do again.”

Steve sighed. “Don’t think it’s for me,” he said. He sat down on the couch and flicked _Downton Abbey_ on. “Yeah, give ‘em what for, Branson,” he muttered as Bruce sighed and stalked off.

*

Thor’s visits were infrequent, but when he did come, he always wholeheartedly threw himself into whatever project the Avengers were working on. So naturally, when Tony filled him in on “Operation Get Cap a Life,” Thor had instantly called Jane to ask about acceptable things to drag your morose and mourning friend to.

“Have you tried a poetry slam?” Jane suggested drily.

“How does one push poetry violently?” Thor asked.

Jane then explained the concept, that people go to a coffee shop or library and read or recite their angry poetry about the injustices of the world. Thor instantly took to the idea and set to work finding such an event.

As it turned out, poetry slams were very popular in the more hipster-y neighborhoods and it was very easy to find one in an old Brooklyn coffee shop. Thor looked up a few videos until he got the style down before cornering Steve, who was taking his turn at cooking dinner, which tonight was corned beef and colcannon, the only things Steve was really good at cooking.

“Captain!” Thor boomed as he strode in. “I have a favor to ask of you!”

Steve looked up from chopping his cabbage. “Yes?”

“My lady Jane told me of a wondrous event called a poetry slam, where people gather to share their inner-most thoughts in the form of verse! I have composed a few myself, but no one is available to go with me and hear it that night and I hoped that you would be so good as to accompany me!”

Steve winced. “Um…I’m not sure…what night is it?”

“This coming Tuesday. I thought you might enjoy it.”

“Um…” Steve blushed. “I’m not expected to have anything, am I?”

“Not if you don’t wish,” Thor assured him. “But you might be inspired for another time.”

Steve sighed. “Okay,” he said. 

The coffee shop wasn’t too crowded when they arrived for the sign-ups. When they approached the table, the teenaged girl taking names squeaked a bit. “But…but you’re…”

“Yes,” Thor said. “I would like to sign up.”

“Oh, sure!” she said. “Um…both of you, or…”

“Just him,” Steve said. “I’m moral support tonight.”

The slam itself was fairly interesting and not too taxing. Steve sat near the back sipping at an over-sugared latte and listening to the poems—some funny, some sad, some angry. 

Thor was called up about halfway, generating a lot of whispers among the assembled hipsters.

He smiled. “On Brotherhood,” he said clearly.

The poem was about Loki, Steve knew, though it never mentioned him by name. It was good, emotional, Thor’s voice rising and falling through the three minutes, describing everything he felt for his lost brother in so few words, and by the end, Steve doubted there was a dry eye in the audience.

He moved up to the second round, and Steve was proud, though Thor was bested in a sudden death match by an angry young woman dressed all in black. Still, it was an entertaining evening, and Thor declared that he would gladly participate again.

Steve smiled as they walked back to the Tower. “Glad you’ve found a new hobby,” he said.

“Did you not enjoy it, Captain?” Thor asked.

He shrugged. “It was fun for tonight, and I’ll come see you sometimes, but I don’t think I can write like that. I’m better with pictures.”

And with that, Thor accepted defeat.

*

The team reassembled the next time Steve was out to discuss the operation so far.

“He doesn’t like pottery, poetry, or yoga,” Tony ticked off. “He’s not one for Bingo or shuffle-board yet, and he already knows how to knit. What other lessons does this city offer?”

“Suppose we could try acting classes,” Sam muttered, though he didn’t seem enthused.

Natasha sighed. “You’re all going about this the wrong way,” she said. “You’re finding interests and trying to make Steve fit them; you need to listen to Steve and then make the interests fit him.”

“Well, then, super-spy, what do you suggest?” Tony asked. “I haven’t seen you taking Capsicle out on the town.”

“You haven’t either,” Natasha pointed out.

“Hey, I don’t know what goes on around here anymore than he does,” Tony snapped. “All of my extracurricular activities were done under private supervision, and I doubt Steve’s going to develop an interest in wine tasting.”

Natasha rolled her eyes. “Well, I’ve been looking into his history,” she said. “And paying attention to him. And I think I have the perfect hobby for him.”

*

Steve didn’t know what to make of it when he found a clipping from the newspaper under the door that morning. He assumed it was another one of his teammates attempting to make him socialize with insipid activities, but he turned it over anyway…

And paused.

_“Irish folk dance. Studio 45, Brooklyn. Thursdays 4-8. Free and open to the public. No experience necessary!”_

A rush of memories came back, of Steve’s mother playing fast music on the record player when she came home from work, of her occasionally getting up and doing a lot of complicated steps that he could never quite follow, her feet pounding on the floor until the neighbors below shouted at her to stop. He recalled some of the other neighbors going outside sometimes and stepping the same way, faster than his mother, all graceful and in sync. Steve had wanted to join them so badly, but his asthma prevented him from learning.

_Bucky had sat with him while they were small, and as they got bigger, the dancers offered to teach them. Bucky had glanced at Steve, who smiled and nodded at him to go join them._

_“But I ain’t Irish,” Bucky had said._

_“You don’t need to be Irish,” one of the girls said. “You just need to love dancing.”_

_“You do, Buck,” Steve said. “Go on. I wanna watch you dance.” He did watch Bucky dance with them, and his heart swelled, only held back by the knowledge he could never be one of them._

But now…

_“Something you never tried but always wanted to.”_

Steve made a note of the time and place in his Starkphone.

*

The studio was large and not terribly crowded when Steve walked in, wearing comfortable civilian clothes and feeling a bit confused. Fortunately, he wasn’t left to hover awkwardly for long before a little dark-haired woman skipped over to him.

“Welcome,” she said in a familiar, lilting accent that reminded Steve so much of his own mother his chest ached. “My name’s Maggie and I’m the leader here. You are?”

Steve wasn’t sure if she was just pretending not to know who he was, but he answered anyway, “Um…Steve.”

“Hello, Steve,” she said. “We’re happy to have you.”

“Thanks,” he said. “Um…listen, I know being around every week is important, but I have a job that’s kind of unpredictable and…”

“No one’s around every week,” Maggie assured him. “It’s an informal meeting. We always start at the beginning, and anyone can come whenever they like.”

Steve smiled and took his place, mingling with the other people. A few recognized him, but a small shake of his head was enough to keep them quiet. Not that there was time to make a fuss, because a moment later, Maggie called that it was time to start.

After a few minutes of stretching, they did indeed start at the beginning, slow steps, learning to keep their balance with the complicated movements and their arms flat by their sides. Steve took to it quickly, his enhanced strength and speed allowing him to get the movements fairly quickly. By the end of the night, when they tried to do a full combination, Steve was one of the few newcomers who got it down perfectly.

“That was great!” Maggie called as they packed up to leave. “Keep practicing what we learned tonight and come back same time next week. Bring a friend if you like!”

*

Tony looked up as a strong rhythmic beating came through the ceiling. “What the hell is that?” he demanded.

Sam looked up as well. “It’s coming from Steve’s floor,” he said. 

“Is he doing aerobics up there?” Tony asked.

Natasha smiled. “No,” she said. “I think he’s dancing.”

*

It became a part of Steve’s routine very quickly. Most weeks, it was just him and a few regulars, so they soon moved up to more advanced steps with faster music, learning to dance completely in sync, just like the dancers Steve had watched back in Brooklyn a lifetime ago. Maggie was a kind instructor, but she could also be firm when she needed. She reminded Steve a lot of Peggy, really.

“Arms down! Don’t want the English to know we’re dancing!”

“Higher knees, Steve! I know you can do acrobatics the rest of us can’t!”

“Let’s pick it up a bit! And go!”

Even when he wasn’t in the studio, Steve was almost always dancing now. His iPod filled up with Irish step music, which he listened to whenever “Thistle and Shamrock” wasn’t on NPR. Even when he wasn’t fully stepping, his feet were always moving, keeping up to the beat. And every evening, he would retreat to his own living room and practice whatever combination they were working on.

Sam was very pleased at these developments. Steve was more relaxed now, more energetic, no longer constantly asking for news of Bucky. Now, when he cooked breakfast on Sundays, he sang along with the radio, his deep voice resonating throughout the common kitchen as he joined in all the old ballads and drinking songs. He watched _Downton Abbey_ with more interest now, actually following the plot and cheering on Branson as he wooed the beautiful Lady Sybil. 

“Good work, Nat,” Sam murmured to her as the clanging guitar came from upstairs, beating out the rhythm that Steve soon picked up.

She smiled in that way she had. “Honestly, haven’t any of you noticed just how Irish Steve is?” she asked. “His parents came from there, he grew up with that culture. And now he doesn’t have to be ashamed of it.”

*

Steve did invite the others to go along with him, of course. They all always asked him to go to events they liked, and now it was his turn.

Natasha went with him whenever she was in New York and feeling relatively secure. She took to it gracefully, her ballet training coming in useful. Even though she wasn’t there often, she soon learned to keep up with Steve easily.

Thor was very enthusiastic when he was asked along. “Grace and balance is essential to the warrior’s training!” he proclaimed. He threw himself into every task gleefully, working harder at it than anyone else, striving for perfection at the dance. He went every week and practiced with Steve every night. Tony quickly reinforced Steve’s living room floor.

Tony had resisted the idea at first. “Look, Cap,” he said. “I’m glad you found a hobby that you enjoy so much, but I can’t see myself River Dancing all over New York like you do. I’ve got a reputation to maintain.” But after several invitations and some wheedling from Pepper, Tony agreed and went along. He wasn’t great, being more of an airman than a physical fighter, but he did manage to learn a few basic steps. He didn’t go again, but Pepper occasionally caught him tapping his feet along with Steve’s upstairs.

Clint and Sam did go a few times to support Steve. Both were glad to see Steve so happy, and both were decent dancers, but they didn’t stick around. Sam wasn’t coordinated enough to keep up, and Clint simply wasn’t into dancing. But they both encouraged Steve to keep it up, and Sam soon learned the words to all of Steve’s favorite songs and would sing them with him when they came on the radio or Steve’s playlist, while Clint would go upstairs and watch Steve and Thor practice to give them moral support.

Only Bruce refused to go, saying that the fast pace and loud music weren’t a good idea for him. “Dancing is made to release your inner-most feelings and passions,” he explained. “And in the case of Irish dancing, it’s done in one of the most passionate way possible. I don’t think it’s a good idea for me to do that in the middle of Brooklyn.” But he would join Clint on Steve’s couch and watch the practicing, smiling and nodding along with the music.

Steve was happier than he’d been in months, and it showed. He danced whenever it was acceptable, and even sometimes when it wasn’t, and no one could tell him to stop.

*

_The 34th Great Irish Fair of New York. September 12 & 13, Surf Avenue & West 21st Street - Coney Island, NY._

“We’re going to perform there,” Maggie said as she handed Steve the flyer. “And I’d love it if you and Thor would dance with us…if you’re gonna be around.”

“I’ll make special effort to remain on Midgard until then!” Thor said. “I would love to partake in this celebration of your ancestry, Captain!”

Steve looked it over. “I’d love to, Maggie,” he said. “But I’m not sure where I’ll be two months from now…hell, I don’t know where I’ll be two weeks from now.”

“Well, come to rehearsals anyway,” Maggie said. “We’ll work around you so if you can come, you come, and if you can’t, we carry on without you.”

Steve glanced at Thor, who was wearing his puppy-dog eyes, and he could hardly say no. “Okay,” he said. “We’ll come to rehearsals.”

“They’re on Monday nights,” she said. “Seven to ten. It’s time you two moved up to the big leagues…and apparently you’re celebrities, which will encourage people to come see us.”

“Fine,” Steve said.

*

It was a bit different, being part of a professional troupe, even if they were just local. The steps were a bit more complex, the music even faster than before, but Steve loved it. He was finally doing it, dancing like he had always wanted to as a boy.

Upon hearing that Steve and Thor had been moved up to the advanced group, Tony had immediately ordered them better dance shoes, custom-made to accommodate superhero-sized feet. “You two can’t keep dancing in tennis shoes,” he said.

The beating from upstairs got even louder with the proper footwear, along with the music being cranked much louder than usual, forcing Steve to focus on the dancing.

“Can’t they turn it down?” Tony grumbled, wincing as “Rocky Road to Dublin” started pounding through the ceiling again.

“You don’t see him while he’s dancing,” Sam said, pouring out the coffee. “He looks so peaceful, man. Like he’s forgotten everything else.”

“I dunno,” Tony said. “Whenever I hear this music, I feel the need to go do some MMA fighting.”

Sam only smiled and hummed along with the music.

*

Two weeks before the festival, Steve’s phone rang.

“Captain,” Coulson’s voice came through the speaker. “We found the Winter Soldier.”

Steve almost dropped the phone. “Where?” he asked.

“He’s back in New York,” Coulson said. “Seems to be living in homeless shelters. I had an undercover agent talk to him. He has no idea who he is, except that he’s supposed to be dead, and he doesn’t remember much of anything except a man on the bridge. I need you to go get him…see if you can trigger a memory…any memory.”

“On it. Text me his coordinates.” Steve hung up the phone and went to grab his shield. “Thor, tell Maggie that I may not be at rehearsal for the next few weeks,” he called as he headed for the door.

“Will you make the festival?” Thor asked, putting on the puppy eyes again.

“Maybe,” Steve said. “Depends on how Bucky does.” With that, he was gone, heading for the location Coulson had sent him.

It was indeed a homeless shelter, and Steve spotted Bucky almost immediately, sitting at a table by himself, covered in a heavy sweater and cap, glaring at anyone who came too close. Steve approached cautiously. Bucky looked up and his eyes widened in recognition. “You’re the man,” he said. “The one on the bridge. The one from the hellicarrier.”

Steve nodded. “My name is Steve,” he said. “Steve Rogers…we used to be best friends. We grew up together.”

Bucky’s brow furrowed. “I don’t remember,” he said. 

Steve’s heart sank, but he sat down across from Bucky. “That’s okay,” he said. “Do you know your name?”

Bucky thought for a second. “You called me Bucky,” he finally said. “And the museum said my name is James…but I don’t know which of you is right.”

“Both,” Steve said. “Your name is James Buchanan Barnes, but we called you Bucky.”

“Okay,” Bucky said listlessly. His hair hung limp and dirty in his face. He was thin, and looked rather cold and dirty.

“I’m supposed to take you somewhere,” Steve said carefully. “To some good people who will take care of you and help you remember.”

“Are you going to lock me up?” Bucky asked. “I did bad things…I remember being bad…I don’t know what I did, but I was bad, and bad people get put away somewhere where they can’t hurt good people…”

“No,” Steve said firmly. “You’re not bad, Bucky, and no one’s locking you up. We just want to help you.”

“You said you were my friend,” Bucky said carefully. 

“Yes?”

“Will you stay with me?”

Steve smiled sadly. “Of course I will,” he said.

“Okay.” Bucky stood up. He looked exhausted, like he’d been running too long and had given up. “Take me there.”

*

They went to SHIELD first, or what remained of SHIELD. Bucky was turned over to a bunch of doctors and psychologists in the hopes that they could make him better. But after three days of it, nothing seemed to be helping. Bucky was cleaner, but he still looked tired and didn’t remember anything that had happened longer than about a year before.

Finally, determining that he was not a threat and at loss as to what else to do with him, Bucky was released into Steve’s care and taken back to the Tower. Steve had a spare bedroom on his floor of the Tower, which he set up for Bucky with soft linens and warm blankets. “It’s all yours,” he said gently. “And if you want anything else, just ask.”

Bucky nodded. “Okay.” He sat down on the bed and stared blankly ahead.

Steve hesitated, not knowing what he could possibly say. “So…yeah,” he finally said. “I’ll see you later.” He turned and went back to the common floor of the Tower, where the rest of the team was assembled.

“How is he?” Sam asked.

Steve shrugged. “He’s not violent, so that’s a start,” he said. “But he’s not much of anything else, either.”

Sam nodded. “It’s going to take time,” he said. “He may not ever remember everything. The most you can do is be his friend now, as he is, without expecting him to be who he used to be.”

“I know,” Steve said. “It’s just…I missed him. And now he’s back, but he barely even knows me.”

“Well, then,” Natasha said. “Let him get to know you. After all, you’re not the same person, either.”

“Right,” Steve muttered. He sighed. “I need a break from this…anything.”

Thor looked up hopefully. “Come on,” he said. “We still have a performance next week. Perhaps it would ease your mind if we did the dance of your people.”

“Yeah, let’s see the River Dance!” Tony called. “It’s not like we haven’t heard ‘Rocky Road to Dublin’ six million times already.”

Thor grinned. “Perfection comes from constant training,” he said as he put the rehearsal CD in the state-of-the-art stereo system Tony kept in the common living room.

Natasha and Clint quickly cleared an adequate space and Thor and Steve took their places. Tony hit play on the stereo’s remote and the music started, loud and fast and rough, and it really was what Steve needed. His feet still found the steps easily in spite of missing a week of practice.

_In the merry month of June, From my home I started,_  
Left the girls of Tuam, Nearly broken hearted,  
Saluted me father dear, Kissed me darling mother,  
Drank a pint of beer, My grief and tears to smother,  
Then off to reap the corn, And leave where I was born,  
Cut a stout blackthorn, To banish ghost and goblin,  
In a brand new pair of brogues, go rattling o'er the bogs,  
Frightening all the dogs, On the rocky road to Dublin. 

_One, two, three, four, five,  
Hunt the hare and turn her down the rocky road and all the way to Dublin, whack-fol-la-de-da!_

Their feet hit the floor hard on every beat, keeping pace with the music, letting them dance out their feelings. Tony had to admit that Steve’s face did grow more peaceful as he beat out his frustrations on the floor, arms straight, feet practically flying. It was a sort of serenity that Steve rarely had, especially with Bucky on the brain. His eyes were closed and in spite of the hard dancing, he was more relaxed than ever.

Around the third verse, the door opened quietly and a dark figure slipped inside, hovering by the wall as though unsure if he were welcome there. No one noticed except Natasha, who turned and smiled, but otherwise made no other movement. Bucky merely waited at the back, tears springing to his eyes as he watched Steve dance.

The song ended and Steve and Thor landed on their feet, hardly even sweating. After a moment, Steve’s eyes opened and landed on Bucky, who still stood silent, tears pouring down his face. The others turned to see what Steve was staring at and then all seemed to freeze as Bucky stepped forward slowly.

“You didn’t used to dance,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “You couldn’t breathe well enough, but you always wanted to…you never said it, but you did…you loved to watch us while we danced on the street.”

Steve nodded. “That’s right,” he said. “You were the best dancer in the group, once you got the hang of it…you always looked so good, dancing like that, like you didn’t have a care in the world…”

“Even though I ain’t Irish,” Bucky finished. He smiled. “But I loved the music, and the dancing, and your face while you watched us…you were beautiful.”

Steve smiled back. “So were you,” he said. 

*

_The boys of Liverpool, When we safely landed,_  
Called meself a fool; I could no longer stand it;  
Blood began to boil, Temper I was losing,  
Poor old Erin's isle They began abusing,  
"Hurrah my soul," sez I, Let the shillelagh fly;  
Some Galway boys were nigh, Saw I was a hobbling,  
With a loud hurray, They joined me in the fray.  
Soon we cleared the way, O'er the rocky road to Dublin. 

_One, two, three, four, five_  
Hunt the hare and turn her down the rocky road and all the way to Dublin, whack-fol-la-de-da!  
One, two, three, four, five  
Hunt the hare and turn her down the rocky road and all the way to Dublin, whack-fol-la-de-da! 

The applause was fairly loud, easily heard over the sounds of the rest of the festival as the group took their bows, but Steve’s eyes were trained on Bucky, sitting in the middle of the crowd, smiling more than Steve could remember Bucky ever smiling before. He smiled back, happier than he had been since arriving in the future.

Bucky hadn’t fully recovered, of course. There were still gaps in his memory, some of them gone forever from decades of brain-washing, but others repressed because Bucky wasn’t ready to face them yet. But that was all right, because he was coming back to himself. Maybe he wasn’t the same Bucky Steve had grown up with, but the Bucky he was becoming was just as good.

Steve and Thor headed back to the small changing area and put their civilian clothes back on quickly, hanging their costumes up neatly and stowing their tap shoes in a safe corner. “Come, Captain!” Thor proclaimed once they were ready. “I am eager to experience more of your traditions!”

Steve grinned. “I know,” he said. “Come on. Let’s find Bucky and see if we can get some decent soda bread. Doubt it’s as good as my ma's, but there has to be something adequate around here.”

They left and were immediately mobbed by the rest of the team, all of whom had come out to support them and have some fun around the festival.

“I swear, Cap, if those pants were any tighter, they’d give me an aneurysm,” Tony snarked, clapping Steve on the back.

Bucky grinned. “I enjoyed it,” he said.

“Yeah?” Steve said back. 

“I love watching you dance, Stevie.” Bucky took his hand. “You’re better than any of us ever were back in Brooklyn.”

Steve couldn’t stop smiling. “Come on,” he said. “We need to introduce Thor to soda bread.”

“And me!” Jane said. “I’ve never had a good Irish soda bread, either!” She took Thor’s hand. “Especially not with a guy who can dance that well.”

“You do that,” Natasha said. “These boys have challenged me to a drinking contest.”

“My money’s on Nat,” Sam said. He tossed Steve his car keys. “But you’re still driving us home.”

Bruce rolled his eyes. "Don't worry, Cap, I'll baby-sit them."

Steve shook his head. “Have fun,” he said, before heading to a food vendor.

As he, Bucky, Thor, and Jane sat down with their soda bread, Steve sighed in contentment and thanked his lucky stars for the friends he had. Even if they were a little too enthusiastic sometimes in their efforts to make him a better person.

Jerks.


End file.
